Snapshots
by Rhianwen
Summary: [ROD TV story] She has come to think of him when she sees the soft warm glow of lamplight. He has come to think of her when he smells fruit and flowers in the sunlight. WendyJoker.


Snapshots

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Disclaimer: The characters in question are not owned by the author. The passive voice is also being abused within this disclaimer in a way that would cause much weeping and gnashing of teeth in most English teachers that the author is familiar with.

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Timeline: Um…doesn't really fit into one time, as such…stretches from just before ROD TV, up to after the 23rd episode.

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She loves his eyes the most when he has just woken up in the morning and is still groggy from sleep.

He loves the smell of her hair when the sunlight falls on it; fruit and flowers. She used to smell of sugar, too, but she doesn't anymore and he wonders when she stopped.

He thinks her collarbones are very beautiful.

She thinks his hands are very beautiful.

She wishes she could meet his mother.

He wishes he could meet her older brother.

He loves her in silky jewel tones and lacy pastels.

She loves him in bed sheets.

She likes to watch him undress, never losing his sense of grace and bearing and smiling slightly at her as his clothes drop to the floor and her breathing speeds up a little.

He likes to pull those silky and lacy garments from her body himself, her expression never losing its composure even as she trembles slightly under his gaze.

He likes to leave on the side-table lamp when they make love, to let it bathe the room in a soft, warm glow.

She likes just the moonlight.

She tries to muffle her gasps when his mouth burns at the skin behind her ear, and his hands trail over her shoulders and breasts and stomach and hips.

He tries not to bury his hands in her hair and bury himself in the soft, warm embrace of her mouth when she teases him softly, watching his reaction through fine, pale lashes.

He loves that she cannot quite keep from crying out when he moves inside of her, and their hips graze together, and her arms clasp tightly around his shoulders and her thighs around his hips – loves that she cannot, and loves that she tries.

She loves his expression, mouth set and almost frowning, but eyes glittering, that means he is almost there.

She loves the feel of his body beneath her, slim and no more muscled than any man with no time for an extensive daily routine has any right to, when she rests against him afterward, feeling boneless and fluid and delightfully exhausted.

He loves the feel of her weight resting against him, the soft curve of her breasts pressed to him, her hair spilling soft and fragrant over his shoulder – fruit and flowers.

He sometimes watches her for a moment as she pretends to be asleep so that he will relax, as she thinks he doesn't know, and then pulls the covers carefully up over her and brushes one hand lightly over her shoulder, skin golden in the warm light of the lamp on the side table next to the bed – for this disagreement, like most, was one that he won.

She always watches him, although carefully because she is supposed to be asleep, as he gets leans over and switches off the lamp, and she smiles softly against her pillow at the man's beauty, ivory in the moonlight – for although he won the disagreement earlier, she gets her way now, which often happens if she is patient; she has learned from him how to wait.

She has come to think of him when she sees lamplight and moonlight.

He has come to think of her when he smells fruit and flowers in the sunlight.

He doesn't know what she finds so appealing about rugby.

She can't figure out why he likes black olives.

She thinks he doesn't know that she still reads Harry Potter when there's no one looking.

He thinks she hasn't seen him glance for a moment longer than absently at her old copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

He smirked a bit when she left the radio station on a song by Slade.

She giggled a bit when he left the radio station on a song by The Cure.

She thinks it's adorable when he tries to help her fix her computer and only makes the problem worse.

He thinks it's adorable when she tries to cook although she can't and tries again.

He hates when she cries, in front of him or at all.

She loves when he comforts her with a hand on her shoulder instead of a stifling embrace.

She hates sometimes what she has done for him and his cause.

He loves the loyalty that she has nevertheless, for him and for his cause.

She hated the sick, cold dread that filled her when they told her that he'd been taken prisoner by Agent Paper and her group, and the pictures in her mind every second of him dead and cursing her inability to help him as he died.

He hated the sudden, swift jolt of fear that hit him when the paper boulder rumbled down the ridge towards them, and the pictures in his mind of her crushed and bleeding and relentlessly and cruelly and sweetly forgiving as she died.

He was proud of her when he learned of the advantage she had secured for them by quick and careful thought and planning, instead of going to pieces and giving into ridiculous demands.

She was pleased and embarrassed when he thanked her warmly and sincerely for her efforts and her planning. Pleased, because he is sometimes difficult to impress. Embarrassed, because she could have done nothing else and deserved no praise.

She hopes they will be together for always, but knows it cannot be that way.

He knows it cannot be that way, and only wishes it when he smells fruit and flowers in the sunlight.

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End Notes: There you have it. Sure evidence that Rhianwen cannot stay away from Wendy/Joker for long. I can't help it! They're just too cute! In a really...evil, suicide cult sort of way... :o)

Anyway, this really just started as a list of some of those cute little idiosyncrasies and quirks that I always imagine their relationship as having, part of my efforts to explain to myself why I like them together so much. Most of the original list has been scrapped, however, in favour of things that sounded "prettier". Although, somewhere along the lines it became a light R-rating instead of a nice, accessible G. :o)


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